


Anniversary

by sassygayhales (EternalxBond)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Feels, Grief/Mourning, Hale Family Feels, M/M, Sterek Secret Santa, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:39:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternalxBond/pseuds/sassygayhales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Get off of my property, Stiles.”</p>
<p>“Technically, it isn’t your property anymore.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anniversary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tsuminubiaru](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=tsuminubiaru).



> This is the Sterek Secret Santa fic I wrote for [tsuminubiaru](http://tsuminubiaru.tumblr.com/)! Unfortunately, when it was posted the formatting got lost, so here's the fixed version :P (Funnily enough, Ao3 also ruined the formatting and I had to manually change it all again. Sheesh!) Doesn't change too much, but still! Merry Christmas/whatever you celebrate, everyone!

“Get off of my property, Stiles.”

 

“Technically, it isn’t your property anymore.”

 

Fresh snow crunched under Stiles’ feet as he approached the fallen log Derek sat upon. It was hard to believe the frozen shell of the Hale mansion had ever housed life; Stiles quietly mused to himself that he could almost say the same thing for the man who sat staring at it.

 

“Do not. Test me,” Derek replied curtly, his teeth grinding as he stared resolutely at the dilapidated house.

 

Stiles sighed, his cheeks puffing briefly as he let the breath out in a cloud of condensation. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

 

Derek’s brow furrowed even deeper as he took his eyes away from the house and glared over at Stiles, who stood only a few feet away from him. Stiles’ brow lifted questioningly, but he didn’t speak. “That’s it? You’re going to let that go? Are you feeling okay?” Derek asked, giving him a once-over before looking back at the house.

 

“I can’t be respectful on a day like today?”

 

Stiles saw Derek stiffen, watched the bump in his throat bob as he swallowed and his jaw somehow seemed to get even straighter. A chill settled over the human that had little to do with the surrounding temperature.

 

“Clearly not, since you’re so rudely intruding on my space today.” Derek growled softly as he pushed himself up. “Guess I shouldn’t expect any different from you. I’m going to have to find a literal hole to crawl into to mourn properly. Thanks.”

 

Stiles took a step forward when Derek arose, waving a hand slightly. “Derek, wait. That’s not -- I’m not just here to be a jerk, you idiot,” he replied exasperatedly.

 

Derek paused, turning to him with another icy glare. “Yeah? And why _are_ you here, Stiles? Come to rub it in, now that you know the truth?”

 

The human tilted his head slightly, frowning and quickly going through his memories to see if anything matched ‘the truth’ in this situation. “What? What the hell are you talking about, Derek?”

 

The look in Derek’s eyes was enough to make Stiles want to crawl into a hole himself. Any camaraderie, any small semblance of friendship they’d messily patched together in the last year was completely gone from his gaze, replaced with anger, betrayal, and a whole host of other negative feelings that caused Stiles’ cheek to flush with embarrassment for ever looking at him. He didn’t even know what he’d done wrong, and yet he felt like he’d made a grave mistake nonetheless.

 

“My _first_ ‘psychotic, mass-murdering girlfriend’? Ring a bell, Stiles?” Derek spat with disdain, his words hitting Stiles harder than any fist.

 

He lurched as his mind suddenly snapped the pieces together. Derek assumed he was here to gloat? To make fun of him for dating the woman who’d burned his family down? On the anniversary of the day it had happened, no less? Stiles stared, his mouth gaped open as he struggled to make his mind and his tongue work. His heart pounded in his ears as he grasped for the appropriate words.

 

“You are such a fucking asshole, Derek.”

 

‘ _Smooth, Stiles._ ’

 

Derek rolled his eyes angrily as he turned away, shoving his hand in his coat pocket for his keys as he walked toward his car. Stiles growled and lunged after him, grabbing his sleeve. “Derek, wait!”

 

Derek shoved him away effortlessly, but with enough force to send Stiles sprawling to the snowy ground. It at least caused the werewolf to stop and stare at him, the tiniest flutter of concern crossing his face even as he huffed angrily out his nose.

 

Pushing himself up a bit, Stiles glared right back at him. “I don’t even want to get into what kind of a person you must think I am to come here and do that to you, moron.” He shook his head and pushed himself up fully, brushing the snow and dirt off his arms and legs. Derek just stared.

 

“Derek, you carry guilt and responsibility for everyone else around like you have the whole damn world on your shoulders,” Stiles started, still frowning. He hadn’t intended to say it all at once like this, but since Derek was being, well, _Derek_ , now he wasn’t sure why he expected anything else. “You throw yourself in front of danger like the only thing useful you can do with your life is to trade it for someone else’s! After all the shit that’s happened in the last year, I can’t just let you be alone, not today--”

 

Stiles words caught in his throat, and he suddenly had to swallow them down, especially at the look Derek was giving him in return. It was far too open, too raw, too vulnerable to be allowed, and the human briefly lost his train of thought at the sudden moment they were sharing. He felt his cheeks burn again, knowing he’d probably gone too far. He’d _definitely_ gone too far. He paused to fiddle with his hands, glancing down briefly as he picked at a stray string of fabric at the bottom of his coat.

 

“I’ve survived this day for seven years, Stiles,” came Derek’s almost whisper-quiet voice. “I’ll survive it for the eighth, too.”

 

Stiles looked up, seeing Derek’s arms folded across his chest as he stared at the broken-down mansion, his gaze piercing right through the rotten beams and charred planks. The moment stretched long between them, the forest dead quiet with the fresh snow, and Stiles wondered if he should say anything else at all or just take his leave. He shook his head slightly, burying his hands in his pockets.

 

“I guess you’re right. You’ve done this without me all this time, you don’t need me around. You’d think I’d know better - I don’t exactly like being visited when I’m out with … uh,” he gestured vaguely with his hand. “My mom,” he mumbled, rubbing his cold nose and shifting on his feet. “I’ll leave you alone. I’m sorry.”

 

Stiles turned, taking a few steps back toward his Jeep. “Stiles,” he heard behind him, causing him to look over his shoulder at Derek, whose face was open and somewhat melancholy. Derek looked away, adjusting his arms across his chest. “You can stay. If you want.”

 

Stiles blinked, surprised. He opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it, choosing to instead turn around and carefully walk back. Derek sat on the log again, and reached over to brush the snow off a portion of it next to him before he resumed his thousand-year stare at his old home. Stiles took it as an invitation to sit, though he bit his lip as he tried to stop himself from saying anything, even though he had no clue what to say. He fiddled with the string on his coat again, shifting his feet, but after a few moments, he just took a breath and let it all out at once.

 

Derek did the same thing soon after, and suddenly the uncomfortable silence between them dissipated entirely. Neither spoke, and yet a mutual calmness settled over both of them. They remained silent companions as time seemed to disappear, drifting past them like the soft, white snowflakes that stirred in the sky.

 

* * *

 

The warm, evening wind ruffled Stiles’ hair, blowing one of the roses away from the bunch on the ground. He carefully reached out, taking it and placing it back with its brethren and adjusting the entire bouquet so that it sat perfectly at the base of the gravestone. He wrapped his arm back around his bunched knees, holding them together as he rested his chin on them, staring at the ornate letters carved into the granite. The letters flickered and swam, and a moment later he reached up with his sleeve to wipe at his eyes.

  
He flinched suddenly when he heard a noise behind him, causing him to wipe hurriedly at his eyes before craning his neck to look at the source. Derek stood a fair distance away with an expression like a deer caught in headlights. He was frozen for a moment before he took another tentative step forward as Stiles scrambled to push himself up, wiping at his face again and sniffing.

 

“Thought I told you I don’t like being visited here,” Stiles mumbled, hiding his hands in his sleeves and fisting the fabric as he frowned.

 

Derek gestured with his hands in his pockets. “That didn’t stop you from interrupting me, did it?” he asked, his brow quirking upwards slightly.

 

“So that gives you the right to do it to me? Asshole,” Stiles growled, turning his back and crossing his arms.

 

Derek rolled his eyes, taking another step closer. “Do you remember _why_ you visited me?” he asked carefully, like a patient teacher trying to direct the conversation to a solution.

 

“Yeah, ‘cause I was worried about your sorry ass,” Stiles grumbled, sniffing again and huffing. When he didn’t receive a response, he looked over his shoulder again and glared at Derek, shrugging slightly.

 

Derek’s brows lifted again. When Stiles still didn’t respond, he sighed exasperatedly and shifted his feet. “Maybe … I’m worried about _you_?” he spoke slowly, like every word was a tooth being pulled. The frustration was clear in his expression, but Stiles wasn’t exactly feeling up to his usual self, and found it near-impossible to discern Derek’s motives at the moment.

 

“About what? I’ve survived this day for seven years, Derek.” he echoed, turning his gaze back to the gravestone and letting his eyes wander over the numbers.

 

Derek took a deep breath as if to calm himself, and indeed his next words didn’t have the annoyed bite to them anymore. “I know you didn’t walk away from the nemeton unscathed, Stiles,” he replied quietly, immediately catching the human’s attention. Stiles jerked his head around to stare at Derek, but didn’t speak, instead scrutinizing him carefully. “And I know something like that can’t make this day easier for you.”

 

Stiles kept staring, struck dumb. His eyes moved slightly, taking in Derek’s features, his expression which was full of sympathy and a dark understanding. It was strange, he mused, to see a look like that on Derek Hale’s face, but of course it was obvious when he thought about it. The fact that Derek was sharing it with him, however …

 

The fact that anyone could understand how he felt sent a cold shiver down his spine. No one but his own father had ever been able to fill that role, at least regarding his mother, and even they didn’t ever talk about it. And now with the nightmares and hallucinations from the nemeton, he was entirely alone with his monsters that preyed on the very depths of his fears, his insecurities, and his weaknesses. It had been harder and harder to hide it all, to keep it inside and convince everyone that he was okay. Derek saw through it, because he knew. He knew, and he was here when no one else was.

 

Derek’s features grew blurry and swam as Stiles’ restraint faltered. He hurriedly looked away and wiped at his face, only to feel a warm, solid hand on his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. Stiles’ expression pulled into a grimace as he shook his head, sniffling loudly and facing the ground. “You shouldn’t have to see this, Derek,” he whimpered.

 

The hand squeezed again, gently tugging toward Derek. Stiles’ brow bunched as he reluctantly looked over, and it was as if the hard, stoic man he knew was gone and replaced with a kid his age. A kid who knew exactly what it was like to lose family, to be losing his place in the world and fear losing what little he had left. The sadness on Derek’s face looked as much for Stiles as for himself, and Stiles found himself being drawn into the werewolf’s arms as he let out a pitiful noise, his tears beginning to flow freely. He pushed his face against the solid wall of muscle that was Derek’s chest, and felt comfort surround him as he was held close, permitting him to let go entirely.

 

Stiles muffled his sobs against Derek, shaking and gasping for air as he was consumed with grief. Everything he’d been holding in and then some seemed to come out of him as his tears soaked Derek’s shirt, his anguished wails stifled by fabric, his arms and hands clinging to the werewolf like he was the last thing holding him together. Knowing that Derek likely understood how he felt better than anyone Stiles knew only brought the emotion out of him more violently, pulling it from all the dark corners that had haunted his dreams for weeks. He didn’t know how much time passed until the worst of it was over, but it didn’t seem to matter. A warm hand rubbed his back softly, a steady heartbeat thumping close to his ear working to soothe him, and as the waves of emotion subsided, he found himself feeling far lighter.

 

As Stiles reluctantly pulled away, Derek moved to sit on the soft grass, lightly tugging Stiles to follow. He did, crossing his legs and wiping at his nose with his sleeve as he carefully looked over at Derek, somewhat worried about what his reaction would be. He was met with a small nod, and an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close again. Stiles carefully laid his head on Derek’s shoulder, and took a deep breath, mirrored by the werewolf.

  
They became silent companions once more, time passing like the gentle wind in the leaves. Stiles felt more calm and relaxed than he had in months, but his pulse jumped as he felt something against his hand. Shifting, he looked down and saw Derek’s slowly brushing against his, and after a moment their fingers were tangled together. Without looking at him, Stiles felt a smile creep across his own face as he slowly nuzzled his head against Derek’s shoulder, squeezing his hand and feeling a response immediately.


End file.
